


Early Rise

by AppleCrumble1



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cinnamon roll Inquisitor, Incorrigible Bull, Intercrural Sex, M/M, OR IS IT, One-Sided Attraction, Window Sex, and Dorian can't help himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 09:59:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleCrumble1/pseuds/AppleCrumble1
Summary: Dorian and Iron Bull watch the Inquisitor train.





	Early Rise

**Author's Note:**

> I will forever pine for the Dorian/Male Inquisitor/Bull throuple that could have been. :'(
> 
> Also I haven't written smut in forever. Pls be gentle.

* * *

 

Dorian had never been a heavy sleeper. Adapting to the earth-shatteringly loud snores of his new qunari lover (ugh, “ _lover_ ”) had not been easy. In the start he _adapted_ by simply leaving the room; then later, by pushing the massive oaf off the bed entirely. Now, and he was loathed to admit it, there was an odd… comfort to that awful noise. Somewhere along the way it became difficult to sleep without it ringing in his ears.

It was a realisation he did not wish to dwell on.

The point was that he could sleep through _that noise_ , but little else. So when the sound of a scuffle from the grounds outside slipped through Bull’s room, he couldn’t help but stir. And when it continued, he couldn’t help but investigate. He extricated himself from the dead-to-the-world qunari and sauntered over to the window, already slightly ajar.

Dorian peered out to where the sparring ring had been set up and blinked. There stood the Inquisitor at the centre, hands bare and raised in a defensive pose; at least ten Inquisition soldiers lined the pen’s walls. _Training exercise_ , he guessed, squinting disapprovingly at the still dark sky. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. Soldiers just hated themselves, didn’t they.

He considered heading back to bed, never one to find watching such training regimens especially engaging.

It was then three of the soldiers came at Trevelyan in a single rush. Dorian wasn’t exactly sure… _what_ he did, but a second later two were lying in a heap in the dirt and one was thrown back against the wall of the pen. It had been a whirl of motion which, for Dorian, only served to highlight the fact that the Inquisitor was wearing a pair of tight fitted trousers and wispy slip of a shirt; almost transparent from the sweat matted to the man’s torso.

Fuck.

He’d sworn not to let his thoughts careen down _that_ particular avenue months ago when it became clear the Inquisitor was more interested in saving the world than in bedding _anyone_. Not. A One. How had the man not gone insane? Maybe he really was Maker Blessed. Or just not a sexual creature by nature. It was an outrageous notion to Dorian, given Trevelyan was a fucking treat on legs, but to each their own.

The good thing, the thing a respectful friend would do, would be to retreat back to bed and put thoughts of the Inquisitor’s body far, _far_ out of his mind. Dorian, sadly, always did struggle a bit with balancing what was good against what he wanted.

Still naked, he took a seat at the windowsill; it was an especially warm morning by southern standards, yet there was darkness enough to keep him hidden from view. The sun had just started to inch its way across the grounds. It cast the sparring ring in a golden light. All the better to eye Max’s frame from afar.

It was a warrior’s body. Not a towering mass of rippling muscles like Bull, but a compact stature of lean, corded power; built as much for speed and agility, as it was for doling out and receiving punishment. The view from behind in particular was one Dorian could stare at for hours. Not just his backside, though bards could probably write songs aplenty about _that_ particular feature. But his back. Dorian fucking loved Max’s back. Walking behind him was a damned delight. There was something so utterly tempting about the toned, tanned, battle-scarred plane of skin. The perfect V-shaped cut of it. He’d be a liar if he claimed to never have imagined what it would be like to inspect every inch of that back in detail. With his mouth.

_Kaffas_.

He should _not_ be thinking about that. Not only was Max his friend and leader, everything about him radiated _goodness_ to an almost disgusting degree. Since meeting the Inquisitor, Dorian had seen many a maiden all but throw themselves at him bosom-first, only to receive a gormless smile and amicable shoulder-pat for their efforts.

Gormless and yet warm. Gentle. A smile which carried neither judgement nor caution; just pure and uncomplicated friendliness. How he’d survived the infamous _Game_ of the Orlesian Courts, Dorian hadn’t the foggiest idea. Luck with a dash of Leliana and Josephine’s tutelage, perhaps.

Such musings came to a halt with a fresh flurry of motion from the sparring ring. Max was suddenly on the defensive, being steadily backed into the pen’s corner by another, far larger soldier. Even from this distance, Dorian could see the intensity of Max’s eyes. The sweat beading on his forehead. The patches of red blotching his cheeks from exertion.

It was _unfairly_ easy to transport the image to another, more intimate setting. Particularly when the other soldier rushed forward and knocked Max back, resulting in a startled grunt as his back hit the pen.

Dorian found himself wondering if he would enjoy roughness in bed. Then quickly admonished himself. But then continued on with the thought regardless.

Max was a force of nature on the battlefield, but such a cautious, gentle soul everywhere else. Would that attitude carry into the sphere of sex, or was he a gladiator there too?

The soldier got little time to react when Max all but bounced away from the pen’s fence and ducked beneath a punch. He leapt forward into a combat roll and struck out with one leg, smoothly ridding the man of his footing. Max then slipped back into a ready stance, dirt now matted to his damp face.

“Quite a sight, huh?”

How in the Maker’s name such a cumbersome giant of a man could move so soundlessly, Dorian had no clue. He huffed in mild irritation at having been caught staring. No point feigning innocence with a former spy.

“Indeed,” he murmured, not bothering to look away from said sight even when he felt the press of warm skin plaster itself to his back. A smile threatened to crack his composure when Bull decided to rest his chin atop Dorian’s head.

The qunari rumbled appreciatively. “He’s like a jungle cat. Fast, slippery, _deadly_.” The last word was all but growled. “Probably purrs like a kitten in the right hands too.”

Dorian would have rolled his eyes at the blatant feeling of Bull’s arousal against his side, were it not for his own similarly hard state. “You are a bad man.”

“A _hem_.” A large hand pointedly cupped his own stiff cock and Dorian twitched.

“Fine… _we’re_ bad men.”

And they were.

A soldier came at Max from behind, making a grab for his arm. The Inquisitor twisted away with a spin, only for another to surge forward from his right. He danced backwards while a _third_ appeared in front. A flurry of rapid jabs sent that one staggering back, but gave an opening for the other two to attack. While the soldiers were shuffling about, letting some take breaks as others stepped in, Max was given no reprieve. It was probably some kind of endurance exercise.

Dorian found himself wondering how long it had been going on for before he woke. Then found _that_ thought abruptly derailed when Bull decided to roll the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock. He sucked in a hiss through his teeth and elbowed the qunari in the stomach.

“Are you _honestly_ -?!”

“Planning on jerking you off while watching the Inquisitor fist-fight soldiers in the dirt? M’yep.” He gave a squeeze, and Dorian could _hear_ the unrepentant grin in his voice. “Unless you’ve an objection you’d like to voice?”

His own silence spoke volumes. Part of Dorian hated himself for it, but he couldn’t resist. It was so disrespectful and had all the makings for problems down the line and… and…

And Max was on the ground. The two soldiers managed to grab and overpower him, dragging him into the dirt. Now between them they had him pinned, face-down, arm twisted behind his back, legs caught in a powerful hold. But the stubborn moron refused to yet yield. Twisting and kicking as best he could in an attempt to break free, all Max succeeded in doing was further dirtying up his face, bunching up his shirt, sending his mop of strawberry-blonde tresses into disarray. _And_ making a series of sounds that carried across the grounds right up to Bull’s window.  

“Fuck it,” Dorian groaned, leaning back into the warmth of Bull’s chest. He opened his legs just enough for the qunari to push his own cock between them; shivered at the feeling of slick heat sliding over his balls. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again after this.”

Bull leant down to huff a laugh into his neck. “So find somethin’ else to look at. Got a nice mouth too.”

“You are such a-... _kaffas_!” he yelped at the bite. “...Ass.”

A hot tongue laved over the area to soothe the sting and Dorian sighed, eyes fluttering back to the scene in the pen. Shit. One soldier had a hand in Max’s hair now; not pulling, but attempting to keep his face pressed to the ground. He barked something. Probably asking the Inquisitor if he finally yielded. What little energy Max had had appeared to be dwindling fast. The part of his face Dorian could make out had lost most of its ferocity, paving the way for fatigue to take hold.

He grunted in surprise when suddenly forced forward, palms landing on the window frame to support his torso as Bull began to thrust in earnest between his legs, hand working his cock with a greater vigor. He released a shuddering moan yet couldn’t help but smirk. Dorian wasn’t the only one being affected by the view, it seemed.

“I bet you wish _you_ were the one holding him down like that, eh qunari?” he panted, licking his lips and arching his back further into the other’s movements. “The one wearing him out, dirtying him up, making him surrender so prettily.”

Bull snickered breathlessly into the meat of Dorian’s shoulder. “You’re not wrong there, _vint_.” The hand gripping his hip gave a gentle squeeze before drifting up to reach across Dorian’s chest and pull him closer. “But that’s not to say my current situation isn’t perfect as is.”

It was a surprisingly earnest statement. One which caused a fluttering warmth completely different to the electric heat crackling between their bodies to swell within Dorian’s stomach. He swallowed, wanting to say something and yet not trusting his words to give away too much. Or too little.

In the end Dorian simply lifted his hand to rest over Bull’s own and squeezed. Hot, rough lips skirted over his neck while the pleasure coursing through him continued to build. He looked back to the pen and a huffed a laugh.

“Looks like he’s finally yielded.”

Max was helped onto unsteady feet by one of the soldier’s who had managed to pin him. Difficult to say with his back turned, but Dorian would bet the man was wearing an expression of absolute anxiety; panicked over the prospect of having potentially caused his leader to lose face in front of followers. It needn’t have concerned him. Max was always a cheerful loser in defeat, and an apologetic winner in victory. He only smiled that damned fool of a smile and said something which caused the soldier to laugh and clap him on the shoulder before walking off.

Behind him, Dorian _felt_ Bull growl. “Fuck. Look at him. He’s a mess.”

Dorian saw and groaned in agreement. Far beyond shame at this point, his eyes hungrily trailed over the Inquisitor’s thoroughly disheveled body. Max was covered almost from head to toe in a layer of sweat and dirt. His tanned cheeks were pinched red and his fair flyaway curls left a damp, twisted mess. The sorry excuse for a shirt he’d been wearing was also torn from the neck, resulting in a opening which laid bare his collarbone and shoulder.

It was too easy to imagine how a bite to that area might look.

“Fasta vass,” he cursed and bowed forward, head dipping and fingers tightening on the window frame. “Bull… I’m...”

A large hand caught his chin, forcing him to look back up. “Keep your eyes on him, Dorian.”

One of the soldiers handed Max a pitcher of water. He tipped it back and greedily drained its contents, uncaring of the overflow which dribbled over his chin to trail down along his neck. A neck which was laid beautifully bare, craned backwards to expose his throat bobbing to guzzle the water like a man dying of thirst. 

It was what did it for Dorian.

A hoarse cry left him as Bull drove him to completion, strokes _just_ on the cusp of painful, _just_ as Dorian liked. And his hand kept moving, even when Dorian’s cock was soft and spent and oversensitive to the point of each stroke being torture. Bull knew him. Knew _that_ was what he enjoyed.

It was only when the qunari’s thrusts became rougher, faster, until finally he came all over Dorian’s thighs with a rumbling groan muffled into his shoulder, that he released his cock with a final affectionate twist. Between the pair of them, they made quite a mess of the window frame.

Among other things.

It took Dorian almost a full minute before he found his words again. “That… Even for us, that was bad.”

“And hot.”

“No, just bad.”

“And _really_ hot.”

“It was _wrong!_ ”

“Hey, think he’d be interested in joining in next time?”

“Bull!”

“Bet he’d look great sandwiched between us. Or with his mouth on your cock while I take him from behind.”

Dorian’s head connected with the unforgiving wood of the window pane, yet the knock did little to quell the fire stoked anew by Bull’s words. He closed his eyes. Exasperation both with the qunari and his own infuriatingly suggestible libido.

_Festis bei umo canavarum_.

 


End file.
